


A death that does not keep

by beans_on_toast



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Background Andy & Quynh, Background Joe & Nicky, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, F/M, Gen, Nile Freeman-centric, Nile gets a big sword, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team Bonding, Team as Family, Temporary Character Death, and there is a dragon, because she DESERVES one, the plot of the movie but with magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:15:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26527324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beans_on_toast/pseuds/beans_on_toast
Summary: Nile Freeman is working her way up in King Merrick's army. She's dedicated, highly skilled, and determined. All she needs to do is get rid of this stubborn headache, ignore the whispers in her mind, and impress Commander Keane.She doesn't, of course, expect to die. And she most definitely does not expect to wake back up.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache & Booker | Sebastien & Nile Freeman & Joe | Yusuf & Nicky | Nicolò & Quynh, Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 21
Kudos: 50





	1. Only fools want to be great

The sharp pain radiates across Nile’s wrist and abdomen. She falls to the hard packed earth and forces down deep, shuddering breaths. Her lungs seem to have forgotten how to function.

‘You’re going to need to be quicker than that squire.’ Nile looks up into the gleaming eyes of her best friend, Dizzy. Well, Delilah, but if she hears Nile call her that, she would just knock her back into the dirt. Possibly sit on her for good measure. Nile groans and rolls to her side. She breathes through her nose slowly and wills herself not to be sick.

‘Lay off, Dizzy.’ Nile manages to lift her head up just enough to see Jay standing at the edge of the practice ring, leaning over the fence with a wide smile. _Oh great_ , Nile thinks, _an audience_.

‘You caught me by surprise, is all.’ Nile manages to wheeze out. She pushes herself up and Dizzy threads her arm under hers to help her stand. ‘That was a hell of a move.’ Nile tightens her arms around Dizzy, a light squeeze to show she is fine to walk on her own. Dizzy releases her and bends to pick up Nile’s sword instead.

‘I learned it from one of the visiting knights, the ones from the desert.’ Dizzy pointedly ignores Jay’s gasp of faux judgment. She swings both Nile’s and her own sword over her shoulder. ‘Luckily I thought to try it out with a practice sword or the King’s army would be down one squire.’ 

‘The King’s army will be down three squires if we don’t hurry.’ Jay says, pushing herself off from the fence and placing her hands on her hips. Dizzy and Nile share a look and nearly dissolve into giggles. Jay is barely the eldest by eight months, but insists on acting as the mother of the trio. She tuts at them, but her lip twitches slightly upward. 

‘Yes, of course _mother_.’ Dizzy sketches a rough curtsey, nearly falling over under the unsettling weight of the two wood swords on one side. Jay rolls her eyes at the antics and Nile stiffles another laugh as she reaches up to resettle her escaped braids in a low bun. Jay reaches out to touch Nile’s arm as they turn away from the practice yard back to the mess hall. It’s a silent question and Nile smiles at her in reassurance. 

Nile can normally have Dizzy disarmed and on her back without working up a sweat. Nile has been helping her mother on the family’s farm as long as she could walk. Long hours of heavy manual labour has honed her body into a well muscled tool. And she had been training herself on a sword since she was old enough to grasp the hilt properly. Nile always knew that she would be the one to follow her father into the King’s Army some day. When the news reached her family that her father had been killed in battle, Nile had cried so much she had been sick. Then the next day she got up before the sun, took his battered sword from the bundle of his belongings and trained twice as hard. 

The move from the visiting knights had surprised her, that was true. Their technique was about getting your opponent off balance. Their swords were often lighter and curved. They had a wider range of motions that could inflict damage, rather than needing to use the physical weight behind a thrust or swing as with the short, straight swords the army used. However, Dizzy was attempting the technique with a blunt, wooden practice sword and it should have been easy enough for Nile to evade. No, it isn’t the move that allowed Dizzy to best her. Nile is distracted, had been for days.

Nile catches her lower lip between her teeth and worries it. Her friends’ easy bantering fades into the background. A quick glance at the sun, hanging low on the horizon showed that the sixth bell must have rang while Dizzy and her were sparring, but not too long past. There would still be time to pull them to the side before they got to the mess hall, answer some of the questions they hadn't spoken but Nile could hear in their sidelong glances and gentle touches this past week.

Nile has nearly convinced herself she would do it, when three things seemed to happen at once. First, at the moment girls reach the bottom of the hill, a large horse comes barrelling down the path. Seeming to not see them, or not care if he did, the rider does not break his frantic pace. 

Second, Dizzy and Jay leap back, with a myriad of impressive curses. Luckily, Jay has flung her arm out on instinct, which stops Nile from continuing her distracted path forward. 

Third, and quite possibly most important, the low buzzing noise that has settled at the back of Nile’s mind for nearly a week suddenly swells. She can think of nothing else. It is no longer a hum, but a scream. Every word she tries to catch slips through her fingers like water through a sieve. It grows and grows, seeming to fill every spare inch of her brain. She feels as if she is drowning.

Through the haze, Nile dimly hears shouts and feels the slick sensation of blood on her lips. The world goes black. She doesn’t feel herself fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify, Nile does not die here. She just passes out! For reasons that will be addressed later (I think).
> 
> Here we go again, back on my extremely self indulgent AUs. Based on this [tumblr post](https://tovezza.tumblr.com/post/628491678605574144/tovezza-tovezza-ok-but-nile-in-that-fantasy-au). 
> 
> Sorry for this short little prologue. Chapter 1 is nearly written but currently being beta'd. Just needed to get this out before I lost my nerve. 
> 
> It's based in the real world, but at one point in history, technology stopped progressing because this world has magic! (What my friend has so eloquently dubbed 'dragon age logic'). This is the longest fic I've ever written and it is going to roughly follow the events of the movie, but will diverge from canon. Because (and I cannot emphasize this enough) _magic_.
> 
> Come say hi to me at [@hyper-fixate on tumblr](https://https://www.tumblr.com/blog/hyper-fixate)!


	2. you cannot get unless you give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sir Copley makes an exciting discovery. Nile Freeman dies, a bit. A group of immortals dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter:  
> Blood and Gore  
> Character death (it is temporary and canon compliant)
> 
> special thanks to Mr. beans_on_toast who spent an evening blocking out a tiny fight scene with me.

Sir James Copley is tired. When he catches his reflection in the small looking glass he uses for shaving, he doesn’t recognise himself. Not due to the small peppering of grays in his hair and beard, nor the crow’s feet that have begun to crinkle around the edge of his eyes. These are signs of a long life, a life not everyone is blessed to have. 

No, it’s something more than that. It’s the tired circles under his eyes. The bloodshot capillaries that come and go as his sleep waxes and wanes. It is in the way he carries himself, bending as though under the weight of what he _knows_ to be true, even if he won’t say it. It is the way in which he kept riding, even upon hearing the screams and shouts behind him. James, just James, would have turned. James was a fair Procurator Fiscal. He returned home every night to the embrace of his beloved wife. He was a quiet, unassuming man and he would have stopped to see what the outcry was.

Sir James Copley is Steward to King Merrick III, youngest to ascend the throne in living memory. Sir James Copley goes to his chambers in the castle, alone. He is quiet. He is unassuming. But he did not stop. He swings off his horse and thrusts his reins at the stable boy without so much as a glance. He clutches his satchel to his chest as if it were the world’s most precious cargo, rather than a few papers of hearsay and rumour. 

‘I have found them!’ The words escape him, almost without meaning to, as he bursts into the King’s antechamber. Three pairs of eyes turn to his sudden intrusion and Copley’s addled brain takes a moment to realise he probably should have been more circumspect in his entrance. Perhaps checked who else was in audience with the King. Luck, it seems, favoured him this one time. The King was flanked at his desk by Keane, the commander of the King’s personal guard, and Meta Kozak, the King’s enigmatic advisor. Copley couldn’t say he enjoyed their acquaintance, but they were both already aware of both sides of the work Copley undertook for Merrick, the public duties as well the _other_ matter. 

Copley is suddenly, keenly aware of his bedraggled and dirty appearance. He settles his travelling cloak more firmly about his shoulders and hopes it hid the wrinkles on his tunic and hose. 

‘Your majesty, my deepest apologies for bursting in here. I was, ah, overly exuberant to share my news with you.’ Copley says with a short, perfunctory bow. Merrick indulges him with a lazy smile. ‘I have brought my findings.’ Still slightly bowed, Copley approaches the desk and, with trembling fingers, he brings the parchments out of his satchel and hands them over to his King. Merrick scans the top one quickly, then sighs and sits back in his chair.

'You have brought me all this before.' Merrick drawls, lazily pushing the papers to Meta, who appraises them with a cold eye and Keane, who crosses his arms and furrows his brow as he tries to decipher the words. 

'Two knights, one pale with light eyes and the other Mahgrebi? Forged notes that bear similar marks, where the tavern owners describe a similar blonde Frank? A dark haired woman with a- a labrys?' Keane stumbles over the pronunciation and Copley manages to hide his laugh in a cough. He does not get along with the commander but he is not the type of person Copley would want as an enemy.

'It is a type of double handed axe. It's associated with the ancient kingdom of Scythia I believe.' Copley explains.

'You are chasing rumours and guesses, Sir Copley.' Merrick waves his hands at the parchments scattered across his desks. 'None of this is any proof.'

'They have been in numerous recorded battles where they all walked away unscathed. This blacksmith in Avon,' Copley picks up a piece of parchment from the pile, 'he claims the light skinned man, the one with the accent, was mauled by a rabid wolf while defending their town. He saw the wolf tear out his throat. Yet by the time the others destroyed the beast, the man was sitting up and talking. And here,' he grabs another one, 'nearly two dozen villagers will swear the woman saved them from a fire nearly thirty years ago. Rumours and heresy individually, but together.' Copley spreads his hands, trying to convey his point where his words seemed to have failed. 

'These go back as far as living memory and some are tales handed down from fathers, aunts, grandparents. These same individuals over and over again. Your majesty, please.’ Copley slides the paper that had been at the top of his files back towards the King.

‘Three of them have been seen recently, in Sussex. They helped a village that had been attacked by raiders. Three of them against at least twenty five. And all three came back, covered in blood but with no wounds. This is from a very credible source just over one day ago. The woman and the two knights. And my source swore, he swore it upon a Bible to God, that they had a dragonling with them.' Copley is making his plea to the king, but his eye shifts to the woman. The only who hasn't spoken, simply watching them all. At the mention of the dragonling, she smiles. It's dripping with something sinister, something cold.

'Your majesty,' Meta begins. Her Common is slightly accented and quiet. But she is easily heard as all the men in the room seem to have drawn in their breath to allow her to speak. 'If Steward Copley’s source is correct then, with the Commander's help, I can finally bring you what you've asked for.' Copley tries to hide the shiver down his spine. He knows of her power and it unnerves him. As much he would never want Keane as an enemy, he is still just a man. The witch, she is another thing altogether.

'Immortality.' The King breaths. But Copley is only half paying attention, instead his mind catches on the sight of himself in a full length mirror behind the others. He takes in his bloodshot eyes and the dust and dirt from travel still clinging to him. His rumpled clothes. His wide, frantic stare. No, Sir James Copley does not recognise himself.

And in an achingly painful flash of understanding, he knows his wife would not either. 

\------------------

It is three days after she collapsed before Nile is finally, _finally_ , allowed back out on patrol. The healers could find nothing wrong with her but were concerned about her collapse. She agrees to only attend the local patrol, staying within half a day's walk of the castle. Bandits have been accosting merchants and travellers on the way into the town. Nile expects to spend the day guarding the road. She likes these assignments, smiling and waving as people pass. Sometimes she hides sweets in her pockets to hand out to the children. However, when they arrive at their agreed post, Dizzy finds a trail of broken undergrowth and bramble leading into the woods. Their sergeant motions for them to silently follow. God is on their side, and within half a candlemark they find themselves coming upon a group of bandits. The men and women are half drunk, sleeping in the midday sun and caught completely unawares.

Nile is a good soldier. She has trained every day for years. But when he follows Dizzy and Jay into the fray, no training could prepare her for the chaos. Lifting her sword now, in real combat, feels differently to a wooden sword in sparring. Her mind scrambles to come to terms with the sensation of cutting through flesh and bone but her body knows the movements. The bandit in front of her falls, too shocked to even go for his weapon. Another comes to fill his space. Her vision narrows to the thin man front of her. He stays just beyond the reach of her broadsword, twirling a dagger in his hand. Sweat drips down her cheek. She smells the blood on her blade, sharp and metallic.

The man darts to the side, trying to draw her swing so he can get inside her guard. She steps back and swings down in a practiced motion. She hears his cry as he falls back, his dagger falling useless in dirt alongside his hand. Blood sprays on her face and she is afraid to take a moment to wipe it away. She hears Jay call from her right side and she turns. She slashes at the man grappling with her friend. Her sword catches on his shoulder. He roars, turning towards her, giving Jay the opening to split his stomach. 

‘Jay!’ She calls. Jay smiles at her weakly, signalling she’s okay. Dizzy and the sergeant are working together to overcome one bandit who has managed to evade their swords with her longer pole arm. She is the last bandit standing. Nile tries to take a deep, steadying breath. The smell of blood, sweat and unwashed bodies makes her feel unsteady. The headache she has been keeping at bay for days threatens to overwhelm her again. She surveys the carnage and sees the man whose hand she took still gasping wetly.

Almost without thinking she rushes to him. She grips his bloody stump, unspooling a bandage from her hip pouch.

‘Hold on.’ She nearly growls, trying to keep the bandage steady with her teeth. He tries to push her off, but he is so weak. ‘Jay, help me.’ She mumbles around the bandage, turning her head.

She doesn’t feel the blow when it happens. She is distracted, wrapping her hands around the man’s bleeding ruin of an arm, pleading for help. The buzzing in her head has started up again. She feels a pressure on her throat. But It takes Dizzy’s shout of her name. She tries to respond, but there is barely a murmur where words should be. Her eyes go wide as she drops. Dizzy is besides her, shouting, calling. Nile shakes. Whole tremors that wrack her body. She is literally shaking apart. 

Only then does the pain hit. And then blessed darkness.

\------------------

_A blade. A dark haired woman crying. Shouting. A beautiful face, covered in blood. A bird call. Hands clasped. So much blood. Pain._

Andromache the Scythian bolts awake. It takes half a breath for her to wipe away the confusion of sleep. Instinctively, she checks her surroundings. She sees the two men across from her sit up, untangling their arms from one another with shuddering gasps. She hears a thud and muffled swearing to her left. She moans, letting her head fall into her hands. It cannot be another one. _Not now. Not here._

Yusuf is already up, shuffling through his packs until he comes across a small journal of bound parchment. Nicolo whispers and the nearby candle flares to life. Yusuf smiles at him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head as he sits again.

‘I saw a woman. A black woman.’ Nicolo begins. Yusuf nods, his hands already sketching harsh lines. 

‘I saw another woman. Long dark hair.’ Yusuf adds as he works. ‘What did you see?’ Yusuf looks at Andromache. She glares up at him from between her hands. The full weight of her thousands of years seems to be shining behind her eyes and it hits Yusuf like a physical blow. He looks away first, busies his hands with drawing.

‘There was a badge on their shoulders. It was blue.’ A voice replies from the shadows next to Andromache. With a quiet curse, a small green dragon stalks out from behind the barrel he had been sleeping on before their rather abrupt wake up call. 

‘You alright?’ Andromache mumbles. He stretches his wings experimentally, checking for damage. He finds everything satisfactory and lays down next to her. She presses her leg against him. A brief, calming contact for them both.

‘Yes.’ Yusuf pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Three blue triangles I think.’ The dragon hums his agreement. Yusuf adds it to the sketch

‘They were in a forest.’ Nicolo closes his eyes to conjure the images clearer. ‘She was helping someone when the knife-’ 

‘I felt her die.’ The dragon’s tail twitches in agitation. 

‘She’s a soldier.’ Andromache exhales. ‘Three blue triangles is the King’s standard. She’s in the King’s Army.’ The room stilled. Nicolo looked over at Yusuf’s sketch and swore. ‘Why now?’ She doesn’t expect an answer, but Nicolo provides one anyway.

‘Everything happens for a reason, boss.’ Andromache fixes him with a look that says she clearly disagrees, but he ignores her. ‘We have to find her.’

‘That is not a good idea.’ The dragon shakes his head. Andromache moves her leg away again as his tail flails sharply against her shin. ‘After what happened with the raiders, we should lay low. We have been rambling to ensure our trail is lost for days. We need to get to the safe house.’

‘So we just leave her out in the open?’ Yusuf asks, his voice tight. He glances over the top of his drawing as he blows off charcoal dust. ‘In the King’s own army?’

‘We need to lay low.’ The dragon insists again, a sliver of smoke curling around his head. ‘We are the ones who are in danger-’

‘Not like her.’ Nicolo interrupts. ‘You cannot tell me you don’t remember what it was like, that first time. She is confused, and she’s scared, and she’s more alone than she has ever been. We all remember what it was like, Booker.’ The dragon, Booker, curls his lip back and bears his teeth but says nothing. ‘She _needs_ us.’ 

Andromache pounds her fist against the wall, silencing any further disagreement. ‘I’ll handle the extraction.’ She says, holding her hand out to Yusuf. He holds up a finger to indicate he is nearly done. Nicolo starts searching through their packs again.

‘Boss, come on.’ Booker sits up on his hind legs and places his claws on Andromache’s leg. 

‘You know how it works, Booker. She will be dreaming of us as well.’ She reminds him and he drops off her. She raises her eyebrow at him and points out the small rips in her hose. He makes a movement that Andromache can only describe as an approximation of a shrug. A very rough approximation. ‘I’ll find a horse. That should get me to the Capitol in two days. Then I should be able to get back to the rendezvous in -’ She pauses for a moment, tilting her head slightly to the left. ‘Just under a week if conditions are good.’ Yusuf leans over and hands her the parchment. ‘ _Merde_ , she is just a baby.’

‘Here.’ Nicolo hands her a small, round stone. It’s the size of a duck’s egg and feels faintly warm in her palm. She smiles at him. ‘I’ll keep mine on me, so call for us when you have her.’ She wraps her hand around the nape of his neck and gives it a squeeze.

‘Get to the old chapel, to the east.’ That is not what she wants to say. She wants to go south, away from this thrice cursed kingdom. Nicolo does not say anything, but he gives her that knowing look she hates. Andromache thins her lips, as a warning. She pockets the witch-stone and swings her pack over her shoulder. ‘Law low. Stay out of sight. I’ll be back with the new one as soon as I can.’

‘Stay safe boss.’ Yusuf calls after her but she doesn’t turn around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is Booker being a dragon relevant to the plot? Yes.
> 
> But did I also do it because it just absolutely tickles me and I cannot stop thinking of the others carrying him around, draped over their shoulders like a cat? (Especially Nicolo, because have you _seen_ Luca's shoulders?!) Also yes.
> 
> The author regrets nothing.


	3. in the coffin, it is no trouble to behave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile wakes up when she _definitely_ shouldn't. And that draws unwanted attention. Andromace is too old for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are still running roughly alongside cannon, however the timings are going to diverge quite a bit. Mainly because it takes a lot longer to get anywhere by horse than by plane, train, or automobile.

_A pale face, dark hair. A blonde man, face obscured by smoke. Two men, wrapped in an embrace. Water, endless pressing water._

Nile sits up, her head spinning. She takes a deep, steadying breath. 

‘How are you?’ One of the healers, a tall man with that dark beard streaked with gray sits next to her. Nile remembers him from last time she was here. He had made her promise to be careful if she was to be let out.

‘I am fine, I think.’ She croaks. She winces at the harsh sound of her voice.

‘Your throat was slashed.’ He places his hands on either side of her neck, just underneath her jaw. He turns her head gently to either side. He seems to be watching for her for any signs of pain. ‘When your friend’s brought you to us, I thought you were beyond even the good Lord’s help. However, you seem to have recovered.’ He carefully removes the bandage at her neck and recoils, his eyes wide. She throws her hands to her throat and finds nothing but soft skin. Soft, whole, _unmarred_ skin. She suddenly feels warm and cold at the same time. She remembers the feel of steel at her throat. The silence draws out for a moment as he waits for some reply. Nile has none for him. 

He shakily rewraps her neck as if he cannot bear to stare at it. ‘Get some rest Squire Freeman. I will be back to check shortly after the eighth bell.’ His hands shake. Nile nods and lays back down on the cot. She catches him doing the sign of the cross as he turns to leave. Nile closes her eyes, willing the tears back. She is exhausted. Her body feels heavy. She spares a moment to question why she doesn’t hurt _more_. Those last minutes in the woods are blurred, but she knows what happened. The slash through skin. The sharp pain and the sensation of blood gurgling in her throat.

She feels her gorge rise and instantly tries to draw her mind away. She wonders where Jay and Dizzy are for a moment, but that brings her back to the woods. So she pushes that all away and thinks about home; her mother and brother. She tries to affix lazy evenings at home with them. In her mind’s eye, she practices her exercises while her mother sews a torn tunic and her brother shells peas. She grasps onto these memories as she drifts off to sleep and into her dreams.

\---

Nile wipes the sweat from her eyes. The sun beats down upon the baked dirt of the sparring court mercilessly; summer in the Capitol. Her tunic clings to her back, her breaths are hard and shallow. She drops the point of her sword for a moment, using it to bolster her slightly shaky legs. She forces her breath to calm. She misses the cool feel of grass beneath her back and the dappled shade of her family’s orchard; an admittedly grandiose name for two apple trees, a gnarled pear tree that only ever produced a handful of fruit, and her brother’s citrus tree that had never gotten beyond a meter high and never produced anything. 

Her home is not too far from the Capitol, but there are no trees here, no grass. The river winds its way, dirty and bloated with sewage and rubbish, past the main gate and meanders through the slums to empty it’s fetid waters into the castle’s moat. But it brings no cool breeze, only the stench of too many people crammed into too small a place.

There is too much stone and dirt and bodies here. Sometimes, Nile feels as if she will drown in it. She drains the last of her waterskin and lifts her sword once more. It slakes her thirst, but does nothing for the sun’s heat against her skin or the buzzing headache she still cannot calm. 

‘Are you cleared to be doing that?’ The voice startles Nile so badly she drops her sword. The heavy hilt slams into her foot and she swears, tears in her eyes. That will be an impressive bruise if it is somehow miraculously not broken. She wipes at her cheeks stubbornly and looks up. Standing on the edge of the sparing fields is Keane. Commander Keane, head of the King’s personal guard and army. _Her Commander_. Nile straightens her back. She gingerly puts weight on her foot and finds the pain not as bad as she feared. 

‘Commander. Sir. I mean-’ Nile manges to exhale out instead of a swear. He just watches her. His hand is resting on the pommel of his sword. She wipes her sweaty hands on her gambeson. ‘I’m sorry sir. What did you say?’

‘I wanted to check if you’d been cleared by a healer, Squire Freeman.’ Keane moves like a warrior. His eyes don’t leave her as he swaggers. He seems relaxed, but Nile can see the muscles bunching under his tunic. He reminds her of a predator, stalking its prey. ‘You took a nasty injury in the line of duty.’ He moves right up close to her. She has seen the others sneaking glances at her neck, whispering as she moves through the barracks. Keane doesn’t even attempt to hide his clear interest, his gaze taking in the unblemished skin. He is smiling, but there is something disquieting in his eyes, something wolfish. Nile does not flinch. She squeezes her hands together behind her back.

‘As you can see, sir, the healer’s have done a wonderful job.’ She manages to say with an even tone. The toe of her boot edges her sword in the dirt. Her eyes flick down and Keane’s gaze follows. His smile widens. _Definitely a wolf_ , Nile thinks. 

‘You were very lucky, I am told. It seems that your sergeant was certain you would not survive.’ Keane widens his stance slightly. His foot also brushes against Nile’s sword. A warning, she suspects. ‘Though, I must admit, it almost sounds miraculous. A friend of mine would be very _interested_ in what transpired.’ 

Nile calms her breathing. His tone tells her everything she needs to know. She risks a glance down at her sword, to judge how far she needs to lunge for it when the Commander drops forward, hitting her about the middle. She rolls, pushing him off her and jumping back onto the balls of her feet. She lunges for her sword. 

Only to find it gone and in its place, a tall, dark haired woman. Nile looks over at Keane and sees he’s not moved from where she dumped him. Nile looks back at the woman. She is inspecting Nile’s sword and checking the weight in her hand. 

‘This is a suitable weapon.’ The woman remarks. She finally glances over at Nile, still crouching on the ground. ‘Is that comfortable?’

‘Who are you?’ Nile asks as she hesitantly stands. The woman gives her a slow look up and down and purses her lips. Nile fights the urge to cross her arms. 

‘Andromache the Scythian.’ The woman says, the strange name rolling off her tongue. She smiles and then runs Nile through with her own sword.

\---

Nile wakes suddenly. She tries to roll herself to the side, coughing and spitting. She needs to get the water of her lungs. She feels as though her lungs will burst. She needs air. She’s going to drown. _Again_.

‘Careful, shhh, careful.’ Hands grab her and help her turn. She heaves and heaves, but nothing comes up. Her lungs are dry. But she can still feel the water, pressing down on her. ‘Shh, calm down, it’s okay.’ The voice is soothing, the hands soft. Nile allows herself a moment to relax into the embrace. 

‘The first few times are the worst. It gets easier.’ The voice comes again, gently tucking a braid behind her ear. Nile twists her head to the side. She sees the same dark haired woman from before. Her brain throws up confused images: the woman waking from sleep in a dark room, the woman standing over a knocked out Keane, the woman with Nile’s sword, the woman- Nile pulls out of her touch.

‘You.’ Nile sputters. _Andromache the Scythian_ her mind helpfully supplies. ‘You _stabbed_ me.’ Her hand goes instinctively for her waist, but there is nothing there. 

‘I did.’ The woman, Andromache, crouches down in front of Nile. She holds her hands up to show she is also unarmed.

‘Why?’ 

‘To make sure you were the right one.’ Andromache leans forward and Nile recoils. ‘I’m not going to hurt you now, Nile. Not that it would stay.’ 

‘What does that mean? How do you know my name?’ Nile’s breaths feel as though they are catching in her throat. She turns away from Andromache, searching the area around her for something to focus on. They are in a clearing surrounded by woods. The sun is setting, the sky awash with pinks and reds and purples. She was sparring just after lunch, less than an hour from the noon bells. How was it hours later? The edge of her vision is blurring. ‘Where are we? Where did you take me.’

‘I need you to breathe Nile.’ Andromache grasps Nile’s hand and brings it to her chest. ‘Follow my breaths.’ Andromache takes a deep breath. She holds Nile’s gaze with her own, forcing the younger woman to mimic her. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Nile forces her lungs to follow.

‘Thank you.’ Nile says, calming. Andromache releases her hand and leans back on her heels.

‘I can answer your questions, though I cannot guarantee you’ll like the answers. And some things I cannot say right now.’ Andromache holds her hand up as Nile opens her mouth to ask another question. ‘I lead a group of people like us, people who can’t stay dead. Immortals.’ 

‘Pardon, did you say immortals?’ Nile is not sure if Andromache’s deadpan delivery makes this better or worse. Either way, she can hear that her own voice is an octave too high.

‘Yes, we’re a group of warriors that can’t die. Like you.’ Andromacher gestures between them.

‘This is madness. I have been kidnapped by a madwoman.’ Nile mutters. She is starting to feel the lack of the sword at her hip as a physical ache.

‘Check your shoulder.’ Andromache says, lifting her chin up. 

Nile narrows her eyes, but does as she asks. There is a rip in the fabric of her gambeson and tunic. _Right where she stabbed me_ , Nile thinks. If it’s slightly hysterical, that isn’t anyone’s business but her own. But underneath the fabric is nothing. Smooth, unbroken flesh. Nile’s hand unconsciously goes to her throat, but she knows there is nothing there. She’s traced her hands over it many times since she woke up in the healer’s cot. And now, another wound her mind remembers, but her body has forgotten. Andromache watches her impassively.

‘This, this is foul magic of some kind. You have bewitched my mind. You're a witch!’ Nile hisses out. Andromache flinches and something sharp passes through her eyes. 

‘And the man who cut your throat in the woods? I orchestrated that magic trick as well?’ Andromache rises. She stretches her arms and brushes the dirt off her tunic and trousers. ‘I am no witch Nile, I have no more magic than the next woman. If you will not believe the evidence in front of you, I am not sure what else I can do to convince you. But I suppose we have a few days’ ride for me to try.’ Andromache adds, almost as an afterthought.

‘A few days?’ Nile scrambles up as well. ‘What do you mean a few days’ ride?’

‘That’s where my friends are waiting for us.’ Andromache explains. ‘We will need to get you a horse. Do you know how to ride?’

‘Yes, of course I know how to ride. But I am not going on a few days' ride with you. I have to go back.’ Nile forces down the wave of hysteria again. She needs to get back to the castle as soon as she can. She isn’t sure what she is going to tell Commander Keane, but she has hours to figure it out.

‘They know what you are, Nile. The Commander wasn’t there to just talk to you. They aren’t going to keep you around to fight.’ Andromache’s voice softens. ‘My friends and I can look after you. But I need you to come with me.’

‘This is lunacy. I am not going anywhere with you.’ Nile straightens her back to stand at her full height. Andromache watches her, her endless eyes seeming to give nothing away. When Nile returns her glare, Andromache sighs. She goes to the horse and unties Nile’s sword. She drops it in the dirt by Nile’s feet. 

‘Pick it up.’ The incredulity and confusion on Nile’s face must show because Andromache carries on before she can reply. ‘Pick up the sword, Nile.’ Andromache dips her head slightly to indicate the weapon on the floor. ‘We need to head off quickly and I don’t have the time to debate this with you. Nor do I have the stomach to keep killing you or knocking you out for the ride. You want to fight me, yes? So pick up your sword.’ Andromache levels her own sword, lighter and thinner than a normal broadsword, at Nile’s chest. ‘And when I beat you, you will come with me without complaining.’ 

Nile has never been the type to back down from a challenge. She picks up her sword.

Fighting Andromache is like fighting a whirlwind. She moves effortlessly, seeming to know Nile’s next move before Nile herself does. 

Nile is sweating. She feels it dripping down the back of her neck and soaking into her tunic. It is cooler here, in the woods, but the pace of this fight is brutal. Nile is gasping for air but Andromache seems unaffected. Andromache is _playing_ with her. Nile knows this because the older woman is not fighting back. She’s dodging the blows. When Nile manages to force Andromache to counter, the impact shudders up Nile’s entire arm. Nile is tired and angry. She wants this to be over.

Nile lunges forward, remembering the technique Dizzy used to surprise her days before. Andromache’s eyes widen. The older woman manages to block it, but not quickly enough to avoid a deep gash down her forearm. Andromache hisses. The wound stitches before Nile’s eyes. 

Andromache moves then, darting inside Nile’s, admittedly distracted, guard. She presses in, blocking Nile’s sword with her own. Andromache locks their hilts. For half a breath, they are crushed together. Nile can feel the brush of Andromache’s hair on her cheek. The other woman smells of wood smoke and horses. There is no sound except Nile’s heavy breaths. Andromache smirks. Then she uses her superior strength to unbalance Nile and rip her sword out of her grip. Some of the skin on Nile’s hand goes with it and she yelps. Nile falls hard.

‘You fight well. The others will like you.’ Andromache sheaths her sword and offers the younger women her hand. Nile refuses it and pushes herself up. She tries not to look at the skin slowly crawling back over her palm. Andromache shrugs, offering Nile back her own weapon. 

‘So what happens now?’ Nile asks as she ties her sword back onto her belt. 

‘We can get a few hours out before proper nightfall. We agreed no complaining, Nile. I will knock you out again if I have to. Though,’ Andromache’s grin cannot be called anything but filthy at this point, ‘I prefer my riding partners to be more active.’

Nile thanks God for her complexion as her face heats at that. She manages to keep her face impassive as Andromache helps her up on the horse and settles behind her. Nile’s stomach drops as Andromache encourages the horse into a trot. She feels as though she has just passed some unknown barrier and the life she is racing towards in not the one she left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! Life has been... lifelike? My toddler also decided she didn't know what sleep was, so I've had zero time to write.
> 
> Fingers crossed this doesn't happen again, but who knows. I've written a lot of chapter 5 onwards, so if I can get through the next one we should be alright.
> 
> Thank you for coming to read this ridiculously self indulgent AU. Kudos and comments are lovely but I'm just happy you're here!


	4. the truth is rarely pure and never simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile was pretty sure this was a dream. Except she can't explain away the fearsome woman who killed and kidnapped her, the kind man with beautiful eyes and way too much knowledge of magic, the joyous dark haired one who calls her sister and... you know... the dragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Oscar Wilde (because it was just his birthday!)
> 
> CW - description of panicked thoughts and a panic attack

Andromache mentions they should reach their destination before midday on their fourth day of travelling. After breaking their fast, she directs Nile onto one of the King’s roads. They have preferred to move along back routes and through fields, but Andromache explains they will stop at the nearby village to sell the horses. After days of only the taciturn immortal warrior for companionship, Nile feels overwhelmed by the press of people on the road. It was easier to pretend she was dreaming when it was just the two of them. This feels too real, being surrounded by people carrying on their lives when her life has irrevocably changed. She finds herself shying towards Andromache. The gulf between her new reality and theirs seems insurmountable.

They get a satisfactory price for the horses and Andromache buys them both a sweet bun that has been dipped in honey. Based on the way that Andromache moans and closes her eyes as she eats, Nile suspects that the treat is not really for her benefit. But the sugar makes her feel more alert and more human, if that is even what she is anymore. 

Nile licks her fingers as they make their way out of the village. Andromache turns off the road at some point that looks no different from the stretch they have just walked and takes them directly into the woods, following a path that Nile cannot seem to see. When Nile tries to ask a question, she gets no response, so they walk in silence for some hours. Nile’s stomach grumbles, the sweet bun long forgotten. That seems to get Andromache’s attention, and she turns to Nile with a smirk. The squire already has a sarcastic comment on her tongue when Andromache whirls to the right, her axe suddenly in her hand. Nile unsheathes her sword entirely on instinct as she. Then she nearly drops it.

She is woefully unprepared to have the man of her dreams, quite literally, standing in front of her. Or at least, one of the men of her dreams. Until this moment, she had half convinced herself this was a mistake. That she had clearly seen Andromache somewhere before, that the dreams were a coincidence. Her kidnapper would eventually realise her mistake, or relax enough to allow Nile to escape. Immortals, prophetic dreams, _an army of five_ ; these were all the rantings of a mad woman. But here, in front of her, is _another_ one. In the middle of the woods, where she has never been, looking at her with the most striking blue-green eyes she has ever seen. His scruffy brown hair is pulled back into a leather binding at the back of his neck. And he seems entirely too at ease with Andromache's axe a hair's breadth away from disemboweling him. 

'I didn't think we'd crossed any stones. Have you moved the boundary?' Andromache hasn’t dropped her axe, but she’s smiling slightly. Nile doesn't understand the question, but the man shakes his head with a slight smile. 

'No, I was waiting nearby when I heard you. Yusuf has gone into town.' The man answers and Andromache nods, as though any of this makes sense. Nile is still reeling from the idea that this could possibly be real. She must make some small noise and two sets of eyes turn to her.

The man moves first, stepping around the axe still aimed at his heart, and towards her. ‘Hello, you must be Nile.’ He has a slight accent and holds up his hand to her. She lowers her sword slowly. He doesn’t seem offended as he contentedly waits, arm outstretched. She steps forward and clasps his hand. ‘My name is Nicolò di Genova. Are you hungry?’ 

‘I’m hungry.’ Andromache chimes in when Nile does not manage to formulate any words.

‘Of course.’ He says with a rueful smile. He squeezes Nile’s hand once, then moves to kiss Andromache on the cheek. ‘Then we should head for home, yes?’ 

\---

Nicolò does not talk much. Not in the way Andromache had been silent in the ride here, only grunting out answers to Nile’s direct questions, and most often the answers were _‘I don’t know.’_ and _‘Wait until you meet the others, it’s their stories to tell.’_ , but rather in a comforting way. He falls into step with her easily, Andromache bringing up the rear, ever vigilant. He asks after Nile and her family as they walk and listens to her responses politely. After days of Andromache’s surly silence, Nile cannot help but be soothed by the softness of his voice and gentle look in his eyes. She finds herself moving closer to him, despite having known him for less than a candle width.

Nile notices the humming first. For a moment she worries that it is her headache coming back. The thought startles her for two reasons: she had not realised it had gone away and she somehow senses this is different. It feels almost like an itch or a shudder or an off key note in a harmony. There is a _wrongness_. She turns to Nicolò, tries to turn to Andromache. They are saying her name, she thinks, but it sounds from far away. The humming is now a ringing, loud and shrill and painful. She opens her mouth to yell, she thinks.

Then she feels cool, callused fingers on her wrist. The effect is immediate. The ringing is gone, the itching under her skin soothed. She shakes her head to clear the last vestiges of the sound. She looks up into the worried sea glass eyes of Nicolò. He is forming words and she cannot hear them, exactly, but seems to know what he’s saying. 

‘With me.’ He says, guiding her forward. Five steps, then ten. The ringing does not return but she feels a sense of growing dread gnawing at her stomach. She tries to speak. Nicolò squeezes her wrist in acknowledgement. She has a nagging thought creeping in the back of her head that she should not be here. She cannot place why. It grows louder as they move, twenty paces now. She should turn around, she should not be here. Twenty five steps. 

They have come to a dead end, a snarl of bramble and a tall holly bush. Nile expects Nicolò to divert, pull her left or right. He does not. He walks into it and drags her along behind. She should scream. She thinks of screaming. But her mouth is not keeping pace with her thoughts and she should be in pain, but she is not. The itching is back, though lessened with Nicolò’s hand on her. Her brother pushed her into a holly bush once. It had stung. This does not sting, she thinks, or says, she cannot be certain. She feels Nicolò’s smile brush against her thoughts before suddenly, they are through.

The world jumps back into sharp focus. Nicolò keeps hold of her until she moves one step, two steps. He holds her until she is fully out of the holly bush that is not a holly bush. She staggers slightly when he releases her but Andromache catches her. Her legs feel weak as though she had been running. Strong hands press onto her back and shoulder until she bends in half. The motion is familiar, a hint to relax her body and focus on her breathing. She takes a shuddering breath and clenches her fists. Nicolò crouches in front of her till they are face to face. Hesitantly, he slides a palm over her fist. Again she feels him speak, rather than hears him. ‘Are you alright?’ 

Her tongue feels heavy and she cannot force the words out. She thinks of the ringing and shakes her head. He seems to understand her anyway. He digs something out of the pouch tied at his hip and hands it to her.

‘Chew on this. It’s mint. You can let her up now Andromache.’ Nicolò explains. They help her stand. She takes a deep breath, as she’s been taught, to force her thoughts back into an orderly pattern. She’s been doing this for days now, boxing away the thoughts she cannot examine right now, to be pulled out and worked through later. Much later. She feels calmer. The mint helps. With a glance back, she sees the place they came through the trees is clear. There is no bramble. There is no bush. She can see the forest they were walking through just minutes before.

‘What, in the good lord’s name, was that?’ Nile manages finally.

‘That was a magical barrier that is up to stop anyone who is not allowed through.’ 

‘That was _magic_?’ She reaches for the cross hanging about her neck. If Nicolò notices the reaction, he does not remark upon it.

‘Yes, a protective spell.’ Nicolò furrows his brow and gestures with his hands, seemingly trying to find the right words. ‘I can only apologise, I was going to explain it when we got closer. It should make you feel uneasy, as though you should turn around and walk back. I did not expect you to have such a strong reaction.’ He moves as though he is going to touch her shoulder and she flinches away. He lets his hand drop. ‘I would advise you not try and go through it for the time being.’

‘I never want to go through it again.’ She says emphatically. Andromache snorts behind her.

Nicolò’s lips twist in a wry smile. ‘You will have to in order to leave again. You don’t have any spell bags on you, do you? Or a Mark?’ Nile stares at him, slightly open mouthed.

‘Magic is outlawed.’ The words fall out of her mouth by rote. ‘Magic has been outlawed for hundreds of years.’

‘Ah yes, of course. You can simply outlaw people from existing.’ Nicolò mutters something under his breath in a language Nile doesn’t know. ‘Though that doesn’t explain-’

‘Perhaps you check on lunch Nicolò.’ Andromache interjects. ‘Give her a moment to breathe.’ 

‘That’s… that’s a good idea.’ As he walks away, Nile gets a chance to look at their surroundings for the first time. They are in a small clearing, grass growing tall and unchecked over broken flagstones. It reaches nearly to Nicolò’s waist. Across from where they entered is a small building, about the size of a barn, but the cruciform is unmistakable. Ivy covers the walls and the windows are half boarded. The roof is sagging in a manner that suggests the structural integrity is lacking. Smoke curls out from a gap and Nile can smell meat roasting. 

‘Are you alright?’ Andromache murmurs, her hand still on Nile’s back. 

‘Yes, I think. I mean… yes. Yes I’m okay.’ Nile takes a deep breath. She rubs her fingers along her cross necklace, a familiar soothing habit. ‘I just,’ another deep breath, ‘it’s a lot. Immortality, the dreams, _magic_...’ Nile trails off. 

‘I wouldn’t have thought a leap of faith would have been that hard for you.’ Andromache tone is not cruel, exactly, but it isn’t _nice_. She gestures to Nile’s hand on her necklace. _Mocking_ , Nile decides on, _Andromache is mocking her_. ‘Come on, let’s get something to eat.’

\---

The inside of the church is clean. A few oil lamps flicker on the walls, though not enough to properly illuminate the interior. Most of the light is filtering in from a hole just over where the altar had once been. Pews have been pushed to the sides and the floor has been swept. Nile suspects that is Nicolò’s doing. His back is to them as they enter. He’s tending a large fire set underneath the gap in the roof and stirring a pot while muttering to himself. 

Andromache drops their bags and weapons on the nearest bench. They join an impressive collection of swords, bows, and axes already piled there. She kicks her boots off and shrugs out her travelling cloak, letting them drop haphazardly where they will. Unwinding the scarf from her head, she shakes out her hair with a moan. A quirked eyebrow at Nile clearly says _What are you waiting for?_ before she heads towards Nicolò.

Nile slowly strips off her outerwear and boots almost in a daze. Her eyes linger on the pile of weapons within reach. How simple would it be to grab one and leave? Then she remembers the ward and shudders. A deep breath, push it away for later. With hesitant fingers, she unties her own sword and lays it next to Andromache’s axe. It feels _right_ somehow. It’s the first time anything has felt right in the last few days, ever since she woke up in the healer’s cot. Ever since she _died_. Her hand brushes her throat unconsciously then moves to her cross. The metal is smooth in her hands, worn down from a lifetime of nervous prayer. 

She feels her breath catch in her throat as she realises that ‘a lifetime’ means very little to her now. She has _lifetimes_ now. The feeling lays heavy in her chest now. She died. _She died._ Then she was killed by a strange, fearsome woman, kidnapped, taken to a forest, walked through a magical barrier by a man she had been dreaming of and now, _now_ …

Nile forces herself to take a deep breath, tries to school her thoughts. But it’s not working. She has been barely keeping the panic at bay for days now, constantly forcing down the feelings in order to put one step in front of another. The box she has been forcing shut over and over is open and it seems _later_ is _now_. She stumbles forward, reaching for a chair, a pew, anything to hold on to. Her foot hits something large and solid and she falls. Her elbows stings and her hand is scraped on the rough stone. She watches it heal with morbid detachment. She barely cuts off the scream that wants to tear from her. Barely.

Nicolò is there quickly, pulling her up. His hands brush over her shoulders and arms as if he’s looking for any injury even though they’ve all healed by now. She leans into the touch. Touch has been grounding her, she realises. When she’s felt overwhelmed these past few days, the solid reminder of another person with her has been keeping her together. This isn’t a dream, she reminds herself

Her hard earned moment of calm lasts just until she glances back towards what she tripped over. She is suddenly lightheaded. Nicolò’s grip is the only thing holding her up.

‘That is Booker.’ Says Andromache, calmly, following Nile’s eyeline.

‘ _That_ ,’ retorts Nile, slightly hysterically, ‘is a dragon.’ The creature in question slowly uncurls itself, flicking its tail. As it stands, it’s back brushes the underside of the pew it was half-sleeping under and stretches. It's dark green scales glitter in the dim light and it yawns, showing rows of sharp, glimmering teeth.

‘Dragonling, technically.’ Andromache continues. ‘Too small to be a full dragon.’ The dragon cocks its head and fixes Nile with an entirely too human look.

‘Thank you for that distinction, Andromache.’ Steam curls out of the dragon’s snout as it speaks. _It speaks_ , is the first clear thought Nile formulates at this point.

‘He speaks.’ The dragon, or dragonling, says. No steam this time, though there is a little huff at the end. Apparently, Nile said that out loud. He trundles towards her, his eyes glinting in the low light. They’re blue. He’s near enough now that his wing brushes her leg. 

‘Oh course you do.’ Nile feels faint. Nicolò’s arms are soothing. Andromache is smirking at her again. The dragon, _Booker_ apparently, sits back on his haunches and reaches his forepaws out as though _he’s going to touch her_. The scream she bit down earlier is attempting freedom again.

At that precise moment, the door bangs over and a man steps in. Another man from her dreams. Tall, dark curls tumbling about his face and his brilliant smile flashing against a full beard.

‘Ah, little sister, you’re finally here!’ Nile stares as he takes a step towards her. The blood is rushing in her ears. Nicolò’s arms tighten. Booker’s paw lands on her leg. 

She opens her mouth to say something and passes out instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry guys. I wish I had any sort of explanation for why this took so long, but I don't really. Also, chapter count is probably going to go up, because this chapter was _supposed_ to be the dinner and sleeping scene from the movie and it's... it's not.
> 
> But they've finally, _finally_ all met and next chapter, Nile gets some bonding time with the boys! The best thing about it taking so long to go anywhere in this AU is that I get to add some lovely family time before the angst starts back up!


	5. After a good dinner one can forgive anybody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile meets the others. She learns about her new reality.

Nile wakes alone. The late afternoon sun falls across her face in an array of colours; a stained glass window stubbornly holding onto its former glory, despite the hole in the wall four feet to the left of it. She is in a small prayer alcove, she thinks. There are family crests on the walls and thick stones on the floor, so worn she can’t read them. She hopes they aren’t graves. 

Someone has laid her out in a bed. Or some semblance of a bed that is, in actuality, two pews shoved together with a straw mattress in the middle. The room is separated from the rest of the church by a curtain. The high backs of the pews make it a bit awkward, but she shuffles down and levers herself out. On another ‘bed,’ is a small washbasin and a plate of food. 

She throws the cold water over her hands and face, shivering slightly. She fixes some of her braids and manages to card out the worst of the debris from four days hard travel with her fingers. She’s going to need to wash them properly soon, but this will do for now. She winds them into a bun and repins her veil before stepping out back into the main church, carrying the food. 

‘How are you feeling?’ The curly dark haired man sits across from her. He has paper and charcoal resting on his lap. She looks side to side, but cannot see anyone else. 

‘I am feeling better.’ She offers.

'I didn't mean to startle you earlier.' He lays the drawing supplies next to him and leans back, crossing his ankles. He places his hands behind his head and smiles. Nile has to admit he is stunning when he does, even more so than in her dreams. He smiles with his whole face. There are small crinkles at the edge of his eyes and dimples hinted at under his beard. She inexplicably feels calmer. He is calming.

'We all can forget how overwhelming it is. And you’ve had a busy few days.’

‘I… yes.’ He gestures to bench next to him and she sits. ‘I still don’t know who you are.’ She says, careful to keep space between them.

‘Of course. Where are my manners? My name is Yusuf ibn Ibrahim ibn Muhammad al-Kaysani, called al-Tayyib.’ He introduces himself with disorientating speed. ‘Though Yusuf works just fine usually.’ He adds with a wink. Nile feels her ears burn. She shoves some food in her mouth to avoid her discomfort.

‘Well, _Yusuf_ , where are the others?’ She asks, after they sit in silence for a moment.

‘Nicolò has gone to check the wards, Andromache has gone to wash in a nearby river, and I’m not entirely sure where Booker has gone.’ Yusuf counts them off on his fingers with that same easy grin. ‘Though I suspect those are all excuses to give you some breathing room.’

‘But they left you behind?’ She moves the food around her plate for something to do with her hands. 

‘I am considered the most, ah, sociable of our little cohort.’ He winks at her, as though they are sharing a great secret. She tears a bit of bread off and chews it slowly, giving herself time to think.

‘I… I dreamt of you.’ She says. He raises an eyebrow at her and _smirks_. It catches her completely off guard. Her bread catches in her throat. He immediately leans forward, but she waves him off. She thumps her chest and coughs until the bread dislodges. He holds out a waterskin and she drinks it greedily. ‘I mean,’ she rasps out, ‘I dreamt of _all_ of you. Why would I dream of you?’

Yusuf squints one eye as he looks at her, as though he is attempting to find the words. ‘How much did Andromache tell you about all this? About us?’

‘She didn’t say much about you. She said that your stories were yours to tell.’ Yusuf laughs suddenly, throwing his whole body forward and his head back. It startles Nile and a few pigeons in the rafters.

‘That sounds like Andromache. To answer your first question, we dream of each other until we meet, it allows us to find one another.’ She opens her mouth to ask a question, but he holds up a hand. ‘You’re going to ask why?’ She closes her mouth and nods. ‘Nicolò would say that it’s destiny. Booker would say it’s because misery doesn’t like to drink alone. Andromache would probably tell you to stop questioning things.’

‘And what about you?’ She slides the nearly empty plate of food onto the pew and pulls her knees up so she can rest her arms across them. ‘What would you say?’

‘I would say there are many things in this world I did not understand before I died and there are many things I do not understand now that I do die repeatedly.’ Slowly, very slowly, he reaches out his hand. When she doesn’t flinch, he places it on her knee. It is warm. ‘It just is, Nile. We dream and then we don’t. I try not to focus too much on the why.’

‘I just-’ She feels the pressure building in her chest and she takes a deep breath. Yusuf’s hand tightens minutely on her knee. ‘I wish I understand _why_ it happened to me. Why _I_ don’t die.’ She hugs her knees to her chest. Yusuf’s thumb is rubbing soothing circles around her hose. ‘Why I can’t go home.’ 

‘You have family at home?’ Yusuf asks quietly.

‘My mother and brother.’ She bites her lip. She feels their absence as a physical ache. Tears press at her eyes.

‘What are they like?’ Yusuf is so quiet, she almost isn’t sure if she’s heard him.

‘You want to know what my family is like?’ She hears her voice crack as the first hot tear slides down her face.

‘It has been a very long time since I have thought of my family.’ He shuffles sideways, till their shoulders touch, and smiles encouragingly at her. ‘But I would very much like to hear about yours.’

Yusuf listens to her all afternoon, teasing stories of her family out of her. Soon, she tells him of Dizzy and Jay as well and of her time training to be in the King's army. She even tells him of her father. Whenever the sadness starts to drag at her, he shares a memory of one of the others in a compromising position. If Nile notices the majority of his stories are about Nicolò, she sees no reason to mention it. 

Nicolò finds them a few hours later, still sitting on the bench, Nile’s head resting on Yusuf’s shoulder. She is snoring softly as Yusuf draws. Nicolò kisses Yusuf’s forehead before stoking the fire for dinner.

\---

Yusuf gently shakes her awake sometime later and leads her to a small, makeshift washroom. She thinks it was once the vestry. The water is bracingly cold but there is enough of it to do a proper wash. She strips down and wipes the days of dirt, sweat and panic from her body. She massages her scalp and works the water through her braids before leaving them free to dry. Andromache has not worn a veil around the men so she doesn’t think she has to either.

There is a simple linen tunic and fresh pair of hose laid out on a stool. They are a size too big, undoubtedly they belong to Andromache, but she manages to secure the tights with her girdle and rolls the tunics sleeves over once.

The others are sitting around the fire when she emerges. They are relaxing and joking with one another. Yusuf is sharpening a wicked looking curved blade as Nicolò reads aloud next to him. Booker is curled up on what must have been the altar, his tail swishing idly. Andromache is sprawled out on the floor across from the two men. Nicolò notices Nile first, looking up from his book with a smile.

‘Come join us Nile. Are you still hungry? There is stew, if you would like. And some rabbit and squab if you eat meat?’ He stands and ladles soup into a bowl and gestures for Andromache to hand him a plate. ‘I did not think to ask if you had any dietary requirements. I am sorry.’ 

‘It’s fine Nicolò, I will eat pretty much anything.’ Nile says as Nicolò adds some meat into her bowl. She settles in the free seat next to Yusuf and he finishes sharpening and slides the sword back in it’s scabbard. Nicolò drops the plate of meat next to Booker on the altar. The dragon looks over at Nile before turning his body so his back and tail block her view of the plate. She turns away. 

‘Are you feeling better? It can be a bit overwhelming, at the beginning. I apologise that we may have forgotten that.’ Nicolò asks with a smile.

‘Was it a long time ago for you all? The beginning I mean?’ 

‘Booker was the last of us.’ Yusuf offers up. Nile looks up in surprise, her spoon pausing halfway to her mouth.

‘Booker is a dragon.’ She says it slowly. 

‘I was human once,’ Booker explains, turning his head over his shoulder. He grips a piece of meat in his claws and tears into it. Nile watches as he swallows, then taps one claw to his snout in an all too human motion. ‘I died when the French tried to cross the Urals.’ 

‘That-’ Nile does a quick addition in her mind. ‘That was over two hundred years ago!’ The dragon nods. Nile turns to the two men beside her. ‘Does that mean? Are you even _older?’_

‘Nicolo and I met in the Holy Wars.’ Yusuf grins, winking at Nicolò. ‘We killed each other.’ The others laugh at this, but Nile is missing the joke. She feels as though the floor has dropped from beneath her. She is sitting in a room with people who are hundreds of years old.

‘The last Holy War was nearly eight hundred years ago.’ Nile says, as if saying it outloud will make it sound less insane. She grips the edge of the pew, trying to ground herself to something solid.

‘We met in the first Holy War.’ Nicolò corrects. He puts his chin on his palm and stares into the fire with a dreamy look on his face. ‘The love of my life was of the people I had been taught to hate.’ 

‘The first Holy War.’ Nile tries the words on her tongue but they make her feel vaguely ill. ‘That was nearly a thousand years ago.’

‘Nico _,_ are we coming up on an anniversary?’ Yusuf drops one hand to his thigh, palm up. Nicolo links their hands with a smile. Andromache groans from her vantage point on the floor. 

‘Don’t you dare start that now. I don’t have enough to drink.’ 

‘You’re the oldest.’ Nile says, her eyes alighting on the other woman. It’s a statement to Andromache, not a question. The hints have been there from the beginning. The way Andromache holds herself. The casual way all the others in the room defer to her, in body language and tone. She is the oldest and their leader. Andromache sizes Nile up, then takes a drink directly from a bottle of wine, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

‘Yes.’

‘So we really can’t die?’ Nile asks. Yusuf and Nicolò look at one another, having a silent conversation. Nile wonders how long it will take for that to get annoying. Then she realises that they have had nearly a millennium to learn each other so well. She wonders if she will be able to do that with the other’s one day.

‘Everything that lives dies.’ Andromache breaks the silence. She’s not looking at the others, just staring into space. ‘There used to be another one of us, a long time ago.’ Her eyes suddenly seem to focus on Nicolò and Yusuf. ‘One day our wounds stop healing and we don’t know why.’ Andromache finally looks at Nile and there is something haunted in her expression and Nile feels her breath catch in her throat. Andromache looks ancient in that moment, the firelight glinting off her face.

Nile’s hands have started shaking. ‘You stabbed me. You _killed_ me. And you’re telling me I could have died?’ Yusuf takes the bowl from her hands, sliding it under the bench and squeezing her knee as he had done earlier that day.

‘You’re too young, Nile. Lykon was alive for centuries before he died.' Nicolò murmurs. ‘There are many things that we don’t fully understand about what happens to us and this is one of them.’

‘We don’t know why we have this gift, either.’ Yusuf’s teeth flash against his dark beard as he smiles. 

‘Curse.’ Booker interrupts Yusuf, a tendril of smoke curling out of his nose as he says it. Nicolo looks over at him with a sigh. 

‘It is a gift, Sebastien. It was destiny that we were meant to find each other.’ Nicolò responds in such a way that Nile can tell this is an old argument. ‘We are not meant to be alone.’

‘However it came to be, you have been granted a second chance at life.’ Yusuf says slowly. ‘And a third and fourth and seven hundredth as well. We try to do some good with it. And we very much hoped you would join us as well.’ Nile puts her hand over his and squeezes. They let the quiet settle for a moment before Booker’s tail twitches, knocking a bit of stone off the side of the altar. Nicolò groans and says something in a language Nile doesn’t know. The dragon curls tight around himself, covering one eye with his tail. 

Andromache laughs and throws something at Nicolò. He dodges it, but it hits Yusuf, who in turn asks Nicolò to defend his honour. Nile catches Booker’s eye, barely glowing over the spines of his tail. He _winks_ and she feels something tight unwind in her chest.

She looks around at the strange collection of people and one used-to-be-person-now-dragon. The conversation slips away for her, running through too many languages to count. At one point she’s sure Yusuf and Nicolò are speaking two different languages but seem to carry on a conversation regardless. Andromache laughs. 

Nile does not feel at home, exactly, but she feels safe. And she thinks she can work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title an Oscar Wilde quote.
> 
> Sorry this took so long. It was finished earlier but, it's been a weird week eh?
> 
> Chapter count has definitely gone up because Nile just wants to do her own thing!


	6. the sensation of drowning reminds you of everything you ever knew about swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nile settles into her new family, but learns that there are still more secrets. She learns exactly what eternity means.

The next few days follow much the same. The others give her space and time, but one is always nearby if she wishes to talk. Yusuf can normally be found sketching in the church, but not always. Andromache takes her to a nearby river to wash properly and then beats her soundly in a sparring round with her axe. One afternoon, she peels potatoes with Nicolò and he teaches her phrases in his native language. She even spends a few hours reading with Booker curled up nearby, listening to her words.

Nile feels herself relax, inch by inch.

It's been just under a week in her new life that she wakes late and finds the others outside. Yusuf and Andromache are sparring, throwing jests and insults easily. Nile would think Andromache would be winning, with the range and weight of her axe. But Yusuf is agile, dancing away from her and slipping under her guard when he can. Nicolò is sitting on the ground, arranging leaves and flowers in his lap. Booker is sprawled out next to him, one wing tucked over his eyes.

Nicolò smiles when he sees her and gestures to the ground next to him. She struggles a moment with her too long skirts and pushes the tunic sleeves up again. She manages to arrange them around her but the twitch of Nicolo's lips tell her she looks ridiculous doing so.

'I'm sorry. All we had on hand was some of Sebastien’s and Andromache’s old clothes. I can hem them if you would like? After I finish with these.' Nicolò says and gestures towards his lap.

She nods and spends a moment watching Andromache and Yusuf spar, waiting to see if he'll speak more. He doesn't. They watch in silence for a bit. Andromache nearly lands a blow on Yusuf’s arm, but he dances away just in time. Nile winces. A splatter of blood drips from her axe and a torrent of Arabic curses follow.

'Doesn't it bother you? That she stabs your…' Nile searches for an appropriate word. 'Your Yusuf?'

'My Yusuf is quite skilled himself. Besides, it would make a hypocrite. As I stabbed my Yusuf. Many times.' Nicolò says as calmly as if he was commenting on the weather. Nile laughs at that.

'What are you doing?' She asks as he twines thread carefully around two sticks.

'A protection charm for you.' He whispers a word and the yew stick in his hand glows for a moment. 'I had forgotten how fanatical this kingdom was. They're quite common further south. It will allow you to cross the boundary spells easier as well. Though not as easily as if you'd let me Mark you.'

'Mark me? I don't…'

'I don't have to.' He says softly. He unlaces the neck of his tunic and pulls the fabric aside. She can see the edge of a swirl of colour on his chest. 'It's a more permanent form of mage protection. Andromache and Yusuf carry ones as well. Booker used to.' Booker huffs at his name but makes no other movement. 'But his new nature makes him immune to most magic anyway.'

‘Is… I mean do you all...’ Nile bites her lips. Nicolò tilts his head but waits patiently. ‘Gaining magic isn’t a part of becoming-’ She gestures vaguely at the two of them. ‘Becoming whatever this is?’

‘No, it’s not. I always had a magical gift. I was trained somewhat before my first death but I learned most of it from- from another.' Nile notices the hesitation but he carries on before she can ask. 'Andromache, Yusuf, and Sebastien have shown no magical gift. Though my Yusuf has a particular daft hand at writing spells.’

‘Any one would be better than you, hayati. Your handwriting is terrible.’ Yusuf says, dropping down next to them. His breathing is still heavy. Nicolò wrinkles his nose but accepts the kiss Yusuf offers nevertheless.

'You are sweaty habibi.' 

'You will survive Nico, I'm sure of it. Nicolò was trained by the church as a cleric. They thought their magical skills could help turn the tide of the war.' 

‘Oh, right, you two met during the holy war.’ Nile shreds a piece of grass in her arms. 

'I was a Holy Knight, in point of fact, not a cleric. I went into the war thinking we were doing God's bidding. I was wrong. It took meeting Yusuf to realise just how wrong I was. I am forever grateful he found it in his heart to forgive me.' Nicolò says as he cups Yusuf's cheek in his hand. Yusuf leans into it with a sigh. 

'Knock it off.' Andromache tosses the rag she was using to wipe her face at them. Nicolò yelps when it upsets his charm materials. 'We don't want to scare the new one.'

'I saw worse in my dreams.' Nile mutters.

Nicolò blushes. 'Our apologies. It's been awhile since there was a new one.' 

'It's alright. Hard not to be excited about getting to be with one person for the rest of eternity.' Nile says with a grin. 'And I would take them over the drowning dreams any day.' She means it as a joke. Mostly. But the others fall silent. Nile can read the sudden tension in their bodies. Even Booker's tail begins to twitch.

'What dreams of drowning?' Andromache's white knuckled grip on her axe belies her light tone.

Nile wrinkles her brow and chews her lip. She feels as though she has misspoken or crossed some unseen line. The tightness in her chest returns and she takes a deep breath. She let's it out slowly, counting to seven. 

'Tell us.' Nicolò says with soft eyes. 

'Since I… since I died, alongside the dreams of all of you, oh.' She turns to Booker, who is now watching her. 'You're the blonde man.' 

Booker blinks slowly. His all too human eyes seem surprised. 'You dreamt of me?'

'The first time, yes. You were hard to see, distorted like through fog or smoke. I didn't realise-'

'The drowning dreams, Nile.' Andromache spits out through gritted teeth.

'Please.' Nicolò hurries to add.

Nile takes a deep breath, trying not to dwell on the feeling of heavy water on her chest. 'As I said, the first time I dreamt of all you there was also water. It was everywhere; I was floating in it and it was in my mouth and lungs and-' the sound of metal thudding into wood interrupts her. She blinks up at Andromache's fading back. Her axe shivers in the wood of the door. 'What? Andromache-'

'Let her go, Nile.' Yusuf says quietly. He leans heavily on Nicolò.

'I don't understand, what did I say?'

Nicolò takes a deep breath. 'It wasn't you.' Nicolò closes his eyes. 'Her name was Quỳnh. Andromache can't even put a name to the time she walked alone before she dreamt of Quỳnh but it was longer than we can fathom. Quỳnh was the second of us. It was just the two of them for centuries as well, before Lykon.'

Nile nods slowly, her stomach churning at the thought of Lykon. Lykon who died.

'Quynh was fearless. In battle, she moved like lightning. I have never seen anything as beautiful and terrifying as Andromache and Quỳnh fighting together.' Yusuf adds.

'As well as deadly with a sword, she was the most powerful being I've ever met. She taught me most of the useful magic I know.' Nicolò idly rubs his thumb along Yusuf’s knuckles. He's staring off into the middle distance.

'She was?' Nile asks softly.

Nicolò nods. 'We seperated. Yusuf and I needed a break, so Andromache and Quỳnh travelled here. It was the time of the Great Witch Burnings, you see. And we were complacent. We thought her power was strong enough to withstand any test. It's not as if they were real mages that were being murdered, just poor women. We thought, we were certain, they would be safe. But, perhaps, if we had been with them. If I had been there-'

'Hayati, you cannot keep blaming yourself for what happened.' Yusuf says soothingly.

Nile feels numb and a chill grips her spine. She does not want to ask, but she has to know. 'What happened to her?'

'They were captured. Accused of witchcraft themselves and hanged. When they would not die, the witch hunters took it as proof. They were… tortured.' Nicolo's voice cracks on the word. Booker's tail twitches angrily. 

'But if Quỳnh was as powerful as you say, why couldn't she get free?'

'Il traditore.' Nicolò spits out with such venom that Nile flinches.

'They had a mage working with them. They wove copper into their restraints. It weakens a mage's powers. We thought it might just be a lucky guess, but then they split her and Andromache up. Andromache escaped and came to find us. When we returned together, we hunted down the witch hunters.' Yusuf scrubs a hand across his face. 'They told us that the King's mage had cast a spell. They had trapped her in a lake, to curb her powers. We tried searching for the lake, but without a map or any idea where it could be,’ he shrugs helplessly. 

‘And we cannot even know if we’d be able to sense it if we found the lake.’ Nicolò is so quiet, Nile has to lean forward to hear him. ‘We could not be certain that there was anything left of Quỳnh to find. How could a human soul survive being transformed into water? How could one survive drowning, again and again, for over five hundred years? We had hoped… it would have been kinder that whatever made Quỳnh herself was gone. It was the only way we convinced Andromache to stop driving herself mad with guilt.'

He falls silent for a moment. Yusuf picks up in his stead. 'Until Sebastien, it was all we could pray for. With you now dreaming of the water, that means Quỳnh is still alive, somehow.’

Booker has curled upon himself again. Nile could see the tension along his spine. A huff of smoke escapes his mouth at the mention of his name.

‘You dreamt of her as I do. You dreamt of the drowning.’ A shudder ripples down his back. ‘When does it stop?’ His eyes, those damned eyes that look too human, are filled with pity.

‘We dream of each other until we meet them.’ His voice is soft, but it hits Nile like a physical blow.

She pushes herself up on unsteady legs. She feels restless. Yusuf reaches out for her but she steps back from him. He lets his hand drop. Nicolò hums a question, but she ignores him, blood rushing in her ears. She stumbles away from them. Booker watches her but says nothing. Booker who has never met Quỳnh. Booker who has dreamt of drowning for over two hundred years.

The door of the church slamming shut sounds like a cannon shot. The inside of the church is quiet and cool, out of the midday sun. She shivers at the chill against her flushed cheeks.

Andromache has been alive for millenia, Nicolò and Yusuf for over nine centuries. Booker still dreams of water. She sits down on a pew and wraps her arms around herself. She stares into the embers of the fire and remembers the feeling of water all around her, encasing her, pressing her down. 

How could one survive drowning, again and again for over five hundred years? Nicolò had asked. Nile knows the answer, she had felt it in her dreams.

One didn't. 

\---------

The others leave her alone for the rest of the day. She spends most of it poking through the cache of weapons and examining the church. She examines the dates on a gravestone lying near their makeshift bedroom. Elspeth Lees died at age twenty six. The same age as Nile. Nile traces Elspeth's name over and over until her finger tip goes numb. 

Nile will always be twenty six.

Andromache comes to find her just before dusk. Nile ignores her until Andromache tosses a small pouch that ricochets off Nile's shoulder and lands at her feet. 

'Nico finished that for you. Pick it up and come with me.'

Nile doesn't move. 'Why did you leave?'

‘I know you want answers, Nile. Pick that up. It will help you get through Nicolò’s protection spell. I wish to show you something. Please.’ Andromache says so genuinely that Nile snaps her head up. She did not think she had heard Andromache say please to anyone.

The pouch lessens the effect of the spell, though Nile still feels slightly ill as they walk through the holly bush that is not a holly bush. Andromache then takes them west, away from the town. It’s light enough to see the trees, but Nile keeps close to Andromache’s footsteps in case there are any more of Nicolò’s surprises.

They walk in silence for nearly half an hour before they come upon a shelf of rock that overlooks a sharp drop. It looks like a scar across the forest, the trees splitting and twisting across the patch of broken earth. Andromache drops her cloak down on the dirt and sits with her legs out in front of her. She pats the space next to her. Nile sits down, keeping a distinct distance between their bodies.

‘Yusuf is drawing a picture of your family.’

‘I… what?’ Of all the things Nile was expecting, that was not one of them.

Andromache looks at her, her face shadowed in the failing sunlight. ‘Yusuf, he’s drawing your family after you told him about them the other day. He does that, to remind us of our pasts. To remind us of our homes.’

'I want to go home and see them. 

‘I know.’ There is a weight there, a certainty that comes from millenia of living, Nile supposes. Andromache seems to know everything. ‘I know this is hard Nile. I know this is more than one can hope to understand. But you're not on your own. We have each other and you have us. Me and those three back there will protect you with our lives.’

‘Like you protected Quỳnh?’ It's not fair, but she needs to know the answer. She needs to hear Andromache say it. 

'Quỳnh was… Quỳnh is….' Andromache sounds more hesitant than Nile has ever heard her. She turns her face to the sky and lets out a sigh. ‘I can't remember what my mother looked like, or my sisters. I cannot even tell you if I see Quỳnh’s real face or if it’s the memory of the portrait Yusuf drew. I failed Quỳnh and I have to live with that every day of a very, very long life. I will not fail those I have left.' 

'I-I’m not sure I want any of this.’ Nile whispers. It seems more real, to say it outloud instead of keeping it in her thoughts.

'You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Nile. I messed up with Booker, I didn’t see-’ Andromache cuts off with a hiss. She wraps her hand around her wrist and curls over. Nile presses closer, her hands hovering over the older woman. She’s unsure where to touch, if she can touch.

‘Are you alright, what is it?’

‘The Mark.’ Andromache clenches her teeth together and lets out a harsh breath. ‘Something has happened with the wards. Something big.’ 

Their eyes catch. ‘Nicolò-’ Nile begins.

‘All of them. Let’s go.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been staring at this chapter for at least 10 days. I managed to finish nano (woo!) and then I was just burnt out. I wish I could say I'll get back on a schedule, but I'm doing the TOG 2021 Big Bang, so probably not for a few weeks at least.
> 
> I'm sorry there's a lot of dialogue in this chapter, but sometimes plot gotta plot!
> 
> Title from Frederick Weisel's _Teller_.


End file.
